Damaged Goods
by Murasaki Kaida
Summary: GrimmHime. Grimmjow prepares to leave Orihime and go down to the real world. Rated for Grimmjow's bad language and sexual themes.


MISC: Written for Forevertiffanys at LJ with the prompt of Grimmjow being IC with no fluff or romance. Beta'd by Lilmisfits8811.

* * *

Orihime clutched the thin, scratchy covers to her bare chest. Her breasts really hurt. She couldn't remember them ever feeling as tender and sore as they were now.

She moved into a sitting foetal position and hugged her knees. Her hair fell over her shoulders and hid the faint bruising there.

He was chuckling to himself as he pulled his sandals on. His jacket lay discarded on the floor and his hakama had been put on in a rushed, messy way that looked twisted and creased.

Grimmjow straightened up and flexed his shoulder blades, releasing a series of pops. Even though she'd healed him, Orihime still somehow expected there to be a sign of his fight with Ichigo _somewhere_. Even if Grimmjow showed a new emotion, it would at least prove that it _had_ happened.

That Ichigo really had failed to save her.

But while everyone fought it out in Soul Society's replica of Karakura, Grimmjow ruined her and any hope of escape in her cell at Hueco Mundo.

He'd even made her heal that scar across his chest. What did that mean? She wanted to ask but was too afraid.

"I'm going down there tonight," Grimmjow snickered, using his fingers to restyle his hair. "I get another pop at Mr Failure of the fucking Year." He turned to face her. "And I won't lose this time."

Orihime tensed but didn't say anything. He was upsetting her and that was what he wanted. She couldn't let him have what he wanted.

"You shouldn't care," he continued, matter-of-fact. "He couldn't even fucking sling you over his shoulder and run for it! Either you weren't his first priority or he's just a loser through and through – which do you think it is, woman?"

Orihime glared at him through the filmy tears springing to her eyes.

"Maybe it was that weakness that got you all wet for him," Grimmjow snorted, picking up his jacket. "Chicks always give the sympathy vote to the runt of the litter."

"Stop it!" She snapped, surprised and somehow strengthened by the hardness of her voice.

He whipped his jacket into her face and the sting stole her strength away.

Grimmjow's face was dark and Orihime touched a shaky hand to her face. Tears broke free and slipped down her cheeks.

"I'll pass a message on for you, woman," he said in a low voice. "I'll let Kurosaki know how much you love having me between your legs. I'll tell him that I've had you so many times that you've got more of my come in you then your blood!"

She flinched and clamped her thighs together. She hated it when he talked like this – it degraded her, it degraded what she gave to him willingly in exchange for some company.

"I think he'll be real fucking interested to know that you come every time," Grimmjow purred. He took a step towards her and Orihime scrambled backwards on the bed until her back was against the wall. He snapped his jacket up from her lap. "You even beg, don't you? Hey – you ever sucked his dick like you've sucked mine?"

Orihime burst into tears.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Grimmjow rolled his eyes. He shrugged on his jacket. "I probably won't need to tell Kurosaki any of that crap. He saw you, right? You're damaged goods, woman. It shows, trust me on that."

She tried to curl into a ball against the wall. The blankets fell down to expose her breasts and she wrapped her arms around herself, sobbing.

"Shut it," Grimmjow snapped. He stared at her and a muscle in his jaw ticked. "No one ever said any of this shit would be easy. And you should fucking _thank_ me!"

He stamped his foot in such a childish way that it made Orihime stop crying and stare at him in surprise. She tucked some dampened strands of orange behind her ear and blinked at him.

"I'm getting you ready for the blow," he said, his eyes wide and maniacal. "I'm doing you a favour and breaking you all up before someone _else_ does it!"

Strange, she thought, how he thought it was a favour. And strange how she somehow felt touched. She forgot her tear-stained face and stared at him, wide-eyed.

Grimmjow nodded, apparently satisfied, and left the room with a swish of hakama. She watched him go. Her eyes stayed on the doorway.

Minutes melted into hours.


End file.
